
^. A., x:. 



S IVI I X H 



HALFWAY 



BY 
J. A. X. SMITH 




PUBLISHED BY 

THE SHITH-DIGBY COMPANY 

TACOMA, Washington 

1920 



Copyright, 1920 
BY J. T. SMITH 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



/iUI: 2( li,^0 



PRESS OF 

SMITH-DIGBY CO. 

TACOMA, WASH. 



C1A575324 



DEDICA TION 
To the young man or young woman 
that has the patience to work and wait 
and stick this little volume is dedicated. 

— Author. 



"HALF-WAY** 

By J. A. X. Smith 

Jim Kenderdine, hobo. 

Born in a small manufacturing town 
in Connecticut, he had received a 
Grammar School education and gradu- 
ated at the age of sixteen, and with 
the optimism of youth had fancied he 
was prepared to step to the highest 
rung of the ladder of success by the 
simple snap of his fingers. He had 
stopped school and had idled away 
all of the following Winter, and Spring 
had arrived, yet he had no set plan as 
to his future. His father owned a 
small but complete factory, and em- 
ployed a dozen or more workmen. At 



10 "HALF-WAY" 

his fathers earnest solicitation he had 
consented to enter the factory to learn 
the business from the bottom up. He 
was a great reader and soon began 
to read of other factories in their line 
and what they were doing in the 
larger towns around him. The spirit 
of discontent worried him. He could 
not see what there was to be gained 
by sticking around his fathers dinkey 
little factory. The big town was the 
place. There were the opportunities, 
there was the place for a young fellow, 
and he became sullen and morose in 
brooding over his position. The storm 
broke one morning when his father 
rebuked him for some neglected work, 
and in a fit of passion he had thrown 
down his tools and walked out of the 
factory and the town. He had made 



''HALF-WAY'' 11 

up his mind to see the world and do 
as he pleased. Some day he would 
come back and buy the whole dinkey 
town. 

And this was the beginning. 

******** 

Years have passed, and now we find 
Jim Kenderdine seated in his easy 
chair, before a huge fireplace, with a 
group of young folks gathered around 
him, eagerly listening to the story he. 
tells them. And they gather closer 
as they listen to his words: 



12 ''HALF-WAY' 



The Story 

I am a mechanic. 

My father was a mechanic before 
me. 

And my father's father before him. 

I started to work early in life. 

First in my father's shop. 

Then becoming dissatisfied had 
taken a position in another factory. 

I thought I had latent man's ability. 

/ thought I knew it all. 

My father's advice fell on unheed- 
ing ears. 

I had now worked in a dozen differ- 
ent factories. 

Each one thrown up for another job 
with more alluring prospects. 

To be sure, I had learned something 
in each new job. 



13 



Yet I was not content. 

The field across the way always 
looked to my distorted vision the 
greenest. 

And so I drifted on. 

From one place to another. 

I was discontented with my lot. 

I could never seem to get farther 
than "half-way." 

I had seen others attain positions of 
trust. 

I had seen them slowly mount the 
ladder of Success. 

There was a boyhood chum of mine 
that came to my mind, as I though 
backwards. 

We had started together in the same 
shop. 

He was still there. 

The superintendent of the whole 
works. 



14 ''HALF-WAY" 

What was the matter with me? 

I could only get ''half-way." 

I was a good mechanic. 

I knew that. 

But just when I though I was going 
up, and looking forward to advance- 
ment, something would happen again, 
and I would walk out of the shop and 
hunt another job. 

What 2vas the matter with me? 

The test for success is the patience 
to work and wait. 

Here I had been working at my 
trade for fifteen years and was just 
a good lathe hand. 

I was growing close to the dividing 
line between a young and an old hand. 

Soon my energies would begin to 
flag. 

Then a young man in my place. 



15 



Where would I be then? 

/ must wake up. 

Thus I reasoned, as I lay on the 
grass by the side of the road, with 
my head on my role of blankets. 

At the bend of the long, long road, 
I lay in the warm sunshine. 

Behind me, winding away into a 
hazy blue valley, the dusty road 
dwindled into nothingness. 

Ahead of me the road climbed away 
to the crest of the hill. 

Across the way, a swinging sign 
creaked in the midsummer breeze. 

And it was this creaking, that dis- 
turbed me. 

That rasping, insistent sound kept 
away the slumber that I had invited, 
while the stupor of the Summer day 
held me where I lay. 



16 "HALF-WAY" 

I read these words on the swaying 
sign, time and again, through half 
closed eyes. 



HALF-WAY HOUSE 
HALF MILE UP HILL 



''Half-way, half-way, half-way," that 
creaking sign seemed to say, "Half- 
way, half-way, half-way." 

Beneath my head, my worldly pos- 
sessions were wrapped loosly in a 
faded cotton blanket. 

I smiled as this though came to me. 

Worldly Possessions. 

What more could man possess than 
I had here by the side of the road? 



''HALF-WAY'' 17 

Health, happiness and a hag of 
clothes ? 

"Half-way, half-way, half-way," 
creaked that creaking sign. 

I lay upon my side, an ear buried 
in the blanket beneath me, I threw 
my arm over the other ear, to shut 
out that sound, but the very ears of 
my soul seemed to hear that sound, 
and the creaking — 

''Half-way, half-way, half-way." 

And so I sat up provoked. 

Would that creaking never cease? 

I stared at the sign balefully. 

This thing was becoming a curse. 

Its cry was as insistent as the prod- 
dings of a guilty conscience. 

I thought of the great world of 
youth and pleasure stretched out be- 
fore me. 



18 



'half-way" 



And my thoughts wandered back, 
down the long winding road. 

I dozed in the warm sunshine, given 
over to day dreams. 

In the far distance, I saw a bent 
figure climbing up the way I had come, 

It was a man, long of beard, totter- 
ing as he walked, leaning heavily on 
the long staff in his hand. 




His hat was drawn low over his 
face. 

The beard and hat left but a nar- 
row strip of face to be seen. 



''half-way" 19 

Yet there was something — 

Something familiar, something 
strangely, dreadfully familiar about 
that hobbling figure in the road be- 
low. 

I felt a chill creep into my soul. 

"Half-way, half-way, half-way," the 
sign creaked on. 

I arose from my place on the grass. 

I wrenched my gaze from the valley 
road, turned my back on it and looked 
up the mountain side, but something — 
something drew my gaze back to that 
hobbling thing. 

Then I began to understand. 

There was something about that 
hobbling figure that reminded me of 
myself. 

And then I knew. 

The realization startled me — 



20 "HALF-WAY'' 

I must hurry on — on — on up the 
hill, or else that hobbling thing would 
overtake me, and then — 

But this would never do. 

I stooped and picking a stone from 
the side of the road, flung it at the 
croaking, creaking sign, and hurried 
on my way. 

But a new weariness had stolen over 
me. 

My load grew heavy. 

And as the breeze came fresh from 
the valley it brought to my ears 
again : 

"Half-way, half-way, half-way." 



I plodded up the hill. 
Past that creaking sign. 
Past the "Half-Way House." 



"HALF-WAY" 21 

Down into the valley that lay on 
the other side. 

As I had topped the hill, the valley 
lay spread out before me like a picture 
in a book. 

There was the winding river in the 
distance, with innumerable boats glid- 
ing over its waters. 




There the steel rails of the railroads 
glittered in the sunshine. 

From the stack of the great works 
on the river bank poured forth great 
clouds of heavy smoke, and rolled 
lazily away in the distance. 



22 ''HALF-WAY'^ 

There was a busy look to the place. 

I seemed to hear the hum of mach- 
inery, then — 

"Half-way, half-way, half-way/' 

Would the echo of that creaking sign 
never leave me? 

I hastened on down the hill. 

The next morning I applied for 
work and was gladly taken on. 

I had made a new resolution. 

That creaking sign still seemed to 

pursue me with its insistent shriek 

"Half-way, half-way, half-way." 
******** 

Thus I tacked a new job. 

I worked hard and diligently. 

I was trying to change those words 
to: "Stick-there, stick-there." 

As days passed, I saw the notice the 
Superintendent took of my work. 



''HALF-WAY" 23 

/ was taking a strange pride in it, 

"How do you do it?" asked the Sup- 
erintendent of me one day. 

''Stick-there, stick-there," I said, and 
went on with my work. 

He gave me a startled look, shook 
his head and passed on. 

Each day I forced myself to forget 
that creaking sign and its *'half-way, 
half-way." 

I was rapidly learning to use these 
words: "Stick-there, stick-there." 

And so I worked through the days 
of Fall and Winter into Spring. 

A long time for me in one place. 
******** 

Again I heard the call of Spring. 

And again the memory of that sign 
board in vivid fancy obscured my 
vision. 



24 "half-way" 



HALF-WAY HOUSE 

HALF MJLE UP HILL 



The call of Spring was on. 

The willows along the river were 
showing green. 

The frogs on the banks were attun- 
ing themselves to their springtime 
music. 

In the next yard, a small boy was 
digging fishing bait. 

Here and there, in the sheltered cor- 
ners, the golden dandelion was blos- 
soming. 

The wind from the West brought the 
smell of new plown earth. 

The cattle could be seen, far up the 
hillside contentedly grazing. 



25 



The fever seized me. 

/ must move on. 
******** 

That night I sat and pondered. 

I passed through it all again. 

In my mind I saw my grey-haired 
father, passing among the men in the 
old factory. 

I heard his kindly words of good 
advice. 

"A rolling stone gathers no moss,'' 

I saw my self-will in clashes with 
my father's instructions. 

Then the day I left the shop in 
anger. 

I could have gone back there again. 

But self-pride kept me from this 
step. 

The lure of fancied greener fields 
was on me. 



26 ''HALF-WAY" 

And I had wandered. 

First to one place, then to another. 

Thus I thought, as I sat by my win- 
dow, long into the still night. 

If I could only break the lure this 
time. 

I felt sure that I could. 

******** 

I started slowly for the works in the 
morning. 

My footsteps lagged along the path- 
way to the factory. 

My thoughts were in those other 
pastures. 

I entered the workroom aimlessly. 

The machinery had started. 

I caught the whir of the wheels. 

Twas then I heard another sound. 

It was a joyous sound. 

I could not make it out. 



"half-way'' 27 

It puzzled me and disturbed me. 

It seemed to set my blood to ting- 
ling. 

And then — 

My brain cleared. 

I began to whistle softly to myself. 

Happy and contented is the man 
who can work and whistle. 

And this is what the sound seemed 
to be, as it stole slowly over my won- 
dering senses : 

"Got'there. Got-there." 

I could fancy the words in letters 
of fire on the factory wall. 

I donned my apron quickly, still 
whistling softly to myself. 

The lathe seemed to be smiling to 
me. 

The work went smooth and quickly. 

The Superintendent passed my 
bench. 



28 "HALF-WAY'' 

Then stopped and looked at me in 
astonishment. 




A cheerful grin spread over his face. 

A twinkle was in his sharp blue 
eyes. 

Slapping me on the back, he said: 

"Happy, Jim?" 

I never looked up from my work, 

stopped whistling, and answered: 

"Got'there, got-there/* 
******** 

Thus I labored on for another year. 
It had been a wonderful year for 
me. 



''HALF-WAY" 29 

I had worked steadily, and whistled 
constantly. 

Being glad to work and glad to do 
my best brought to me many joys the 
idle never knew, 

I had stepped up two rungs on the 
ladder. 

Now, was a foreman in charge of a 

number of machines. 

And better prospects in sight. 
******** 

Came Summer and a slack time in 
the factory. 

One day I was called into the office 
and offered the Superintendents posi- 
tion. 

The Superintendent had been given 
a higher position in one of their fac- 
tories in a distant city. 

The offer was accepted. 



30 ''HALF-WAY" 

With the offer came a two week>^> 
vacation. 

What would I do? 

Where would I go? 

Then again in my mind I heard that 
creaking sign. 

It seemed to have changed its words, 
and was saying something else. 

I could not make it out. 

Strive as I would, it was impossible. 

The more I thought, the more I 
wished to know. 

Then I determined I would go back 
over that long road. 

I would see that sign, if it was still 
there. 

See if it still swung to the gentle 
breezes. 

Maybe I would there find the answer 
to the riddle of the new words. 



31 



Next morning, bright and early, 
found me on the road. 

I heard the gladsome whistle of a 
lark way up in the clouds. 

I, also, whistled as I trudged along 
the dusty road. 

I had never been back over that 
old road. 

Would the old sign still swing from 
its rusty hinges? 

I wondered if the "Half -Way House'* 
was still there. 

And I plodded on. 

In the dusk of evening I approached 
the crest of the hill. 

I had taken my time in climbing. 

As I topped the hill the "Half-Way 
House" loomed weirdly in the falling 
dusk. 

As I stood there looking, a light 
sprang out from a window. 



32 "HALF-WAY" 

Then several more followed. 

The old house seemed to be just 
awaking from sleep. 

I trudged on, down past the open 
gateway. 

On past the house, to the turn in 
the road where the sign post had stood 
two years ago. 

A gentle breeze was coming up the 
hillside. 

And as I hastened on I listened. 

Listened, for that creaking sign. 

At first my ears could not make 
out a sound. 

I thought it must be gone. 

That old rusty sign. 

Then to my ears there came a faint, 
far away c-r-e-a-k, c-r-e-d-k. 

The sound floated by me and all was 
still. 



"HALF-WAY" 33 

I hastened forward to the old post, 
which I could just make out in the 
gloaming. 

I reached it and stopped. 

Yes, there was the sign, but silent 
in the early evening. 

I stood and gazed at it. 

That old, battered, rusty sign. 

Would it tell me the words I sought? 

Then a puff of air swung it out. 

I jumped as if some one had struck 
me from behind. 

Then, clearly, as a clarion note, came 
the sound of the old sign, and these 
were the words burned on my mem- 
ory: 

''You're there! You're there r 
******** 

And now I stood and meditated on 
the past. 



34 



It is a long, long trail that has no 
turn, 

Twas good to think now, and I 
began to whistle. 

So I sat through the warm Summer 
night. 

I was waiting the coming of the 
morning. 

At times I fancied I heard a shuff- 
ling footstep on the road below me. 

But I could not see beyond the sign. 

What was it? 

Then I remembered the tottering 
thing I had seen two years ago in my 
day dream. 

Anxiously I awaited the coming of 
the sun. 

Would I see this old man again? 

Bent, bedraggled and worn? 

Somehow I did not fear him now. 



"HALF-WAY" 35 

I would welcome him now if he came 
up. 

And then the sound of footsteps 
broke on my listening ears. 

Then the traveler appeared around 
the bend. 

I started in astonil 

It was a woman— 



eler appear 
:oni9nment. 



36 



Part II. 

Patience Grey, only daughter of 
Isaac and Mary Grey. 

Isaac Grey was a well to do farmer 
who lived on his little farm some forty 
miles from the largest city in the state. 

It was a community in which the 
Society of Friends largely predomin- 
ated. Isaac and his good wife, Aunt 
Mary, as she was called by the young 
people of the community, had been 
brought up and belonged to the Society 
of Friends all their lifetime. 

Plain of dress and plain of speech. 

They both looked askance at the 
show of dress and the frivolities of 
the young. 



HALF-WAY 



37 



So instilled was this in their natures 
that Aunt Mary had quietly removed a 
black buckle from the hat of Isaac, 
with the remark to him *'It might 
make thee vain, Isaac." 

And Patience had grown up in this 
atmosphere. 




The next farm, down by the river 
had taken Summer boarders for two 
Summers now. 

Patience had seen the gay young 
folks from the city, gaily bedecked 



38 ''HALF-WAY" 

in Summer finery, having picnics and 
dances in the grove on the river bank. 

And she longed to be one of them. 

One First Day morning she had 
broken the tenets of her father and 
mother and had attended one of their 
Sunday picnics. 

On her return home she had been 
severely reprimanded by her father. 

That night she had slipped away and 
gone to the city. 

She would see something besides the 
old farm and its never ceasing monot- 
ony of drudgery and sameness. 

She secured a position in a large 
and fashionable restaurant. 

Her sweet face and innocent man- 
ner soon won for her a host of friends 
among the wealthy patrons of the 
place. 



"HALF-WAY" 39 

She soon began to have invitations 
to little dances and parties. 

She accepted them all. 

She was having a good time. 

One day at the urgent appeal of one 
of the wealthy patrons she had ac- 
cepted an invitation for a ride and a 
dinner in the afternoon, after her 
duties were over for the day. 

And he had taken her to the "Half- 
Way House" to dinner. 

They had entered the dining room, 
crowded with people. 

Everybody gay and having a good 
time. 

Here she had taken her first wrong 
step. 

Around her there were other tables 
with people seated and drinking. 

It was a new experience to her. 



40 



She looked on and wondered. 

Some were dancing to the strains of 
soft music. 

Others sat at tables partaking of 
various colored beverages. 

There was a young woman giving 
an interpretation of an ancient dance. 

A young woman dressed in flimsj'- 
drapery. 

How Patience' face burned as she 
sat and listened to the praises of the 
idle society men and women who look- 
ed approvingly on. 

Turning her back to the spectacle 
she shuddered. 

Glancing up she saw a large New- 
foundland dog standing just in the 
doorway with his eyes fastened on her. 

The dog seemed to know her. 

He lifted his ears and waved his 
tail slowly. 



''half-way" 41 

Memories of her home floated across 
her mind. 

Perhaps it was the wine. 

Perhaps it was the pricking of her 
conscience. 

She remembered old ''Bingo" down 
on the farm. 

She silently motioned to the dog, 
and he came slowly across the room. 

He came up to her side and laid his 
great head in her lap and looked up 
with questioning friendly eyes. 

Patience reaches down and takes 
the dog's head between her hands and 
looks into his great brown eyes. 

What does she see? 

She looks again and starts and 
trembles as she looks. 

As in a mystic glass she seems to 
see. 



42 "HALF-WAY" 

There, mirrored as in a picture, in 
the dog's eyes she sees the old home. 

There is the great sitting room. 

A fire is burning in the large fire- 
place. 

Old "Bingo" lies stretched content- 
edly before the fire. 

Her mother sits idly in her rocking 
chair. 

She has been knitting. 

She could see the little heart shaped 
badge pinned to her waist with its 
quill sticking out, but no needle in it. 

The knitting has now fallen to her 
lap. 

Her hands are clasped before her. 

She appears to be in deep medita- 
tion. 

She could see the waves of her hair 
at the side of her plain white cap. 



"HALF-WAY" 43 

How grey it looked. 
What could she be thinking about? 
She would give the world to know. 
Slowly she sees her mother rise and 
approach the window and gaze down 
the lane towards the entrance gate. 

Then she turns and approaches the 
mantle, takes something from a little 
basket, her sewing basket, and again 
turns to the window. 
What can it be? 

Strain as her eyes would she could 
not make it out. 

Then her mother lays the object re- 
verently on the window sill, while she 
slowly draws the curtain. 
And then she recognizes it. 
It is one of her little old white baby 

shoes. 

No need to wonder what her mother 
is thinking of now. 



44 



And then the pangs of sorrow cut 
deep and cause her to almost scream 
in her nervous frenzy. 

Great scalding tears well up and 
slip unheeded down her cheeks, drop- 
ping on the shaggy head of the dog. 

The dog whimpers in sympathy and 
wags his tail with seeming under- 
standing. 

She looked quickly around the room. 

Her companion is taken up with 
watching the dancer. 

He appears to have forgotten her. 

Then she looks into the dog's eyes 
again. 

And now she sees her father. 

He is setting on the opposite side 
of the fireplace. 

He has a paper in his hand and she 
can not see his face. 



"HALF-WAY" 45 

She tries to see the paper he is read- 
ing. 

And then she sees that it is upside 
down. 

He also must be thinking. 

He looks up when mother leaves the 
mantle. 

Old "Bingo" moves uneasily. 

Father lays down his paper and 
raises from his chair, lays his hand 
gently on mother's shoulder and they 
both look into the fire for a moment, 
then with his arm around her waist 
they both go to the window and raise 
the curtain and gaze out. 

They stand there for a moment, then 
both leave the room together. 

Old "Bingo" gets up and stretches, 
then follows them. 

She remembers how in her childhood 
days, when her father had punished 



46 "HALF-WAY" 

her for some insubordination, she had 
fled thru the kitchen door down into 
the orchard and flung herself face 
down under the apple trees and sobbed 
as if her heart would break; how old 
"Bingo" had followed her and placing 
one paw on her shoulder had whined 
his sympathy; how she had flung her 
arms around his neck and sobbed out 
that ''Nobody loved her hut the dog." 

The realization of all this was driv- 
ing her frantic, she must leave this 
place. 

She rises hurriedly from the table, 
upsetting the wine over the floor, and 
rushes madly from the room. 

Through the great doors, down the 
driveway into the road. 

Past the old sign swinging in the 
breeze. 



''HALF-WAY" 47 

As she passes the sign the words are 
burned into her memory. 

''Half Way. Half Way," 

Again she shudders and hurries on 
down the road. 

Just beyond the bend she is over- 
taken by a farmer boy on his way to 
the city. 

He gladly takes her in. 

She returns to the city and never 
returns to the restaurant. 

She secured another position and 
was now the private secretary of the 
President of a large corporation. 

Honest labor must succeed, with the 
patience to work and wait. 

She had worked and waited. 

This was her vacation week. 

Longing for home and a curiosity to 
know if the old sign and the dog were 



48 



'HALF-WAY' 



still on the hill, had brought her out 
early this June morning and we now 
find her telling her story to Jim Ken- 
derdine under the shade of the old oak 
tree by the side of the "Half Way 
House" sign. 

As she sits there in the shade of 
the trees she sees the dog in the 
distance. 




^MT^"" m^^^'^^ 



'^ <^ 



She asks Jim to call the dog. 
The dog comes running gaily. 
He makes friends with Jim also. 



"HALF-WAY" 49 

The ice is broken and to an inquiry 
as to what brought her out so early 
and alone; she told her story to him. 

For a time they both sit in silence. 

Then both arise and go slowly down 
the hill together. 



50 



Part III. 

Years have passed. 

Their home is on top of the hill. 

Just below them, on one side, the city 
has spread to both banks of the river. 

A city of a hundred thousand souls. 

On the other side of the hill they can 
see the ruins of the ''Half-Way House." 

Now fallen into decay. 

The old stone chimney stands grey 
and forboding. 

The empty windows look out on the 
dusty highway. 

The great oaken door has fallen in. 

The drive and yard is overgrown 
with weeds and hollyhocks. 



"half-way'' 51 

Here and there a tall sunflower nods 
its seed-filled head in the sultry air. 

The gates have been taken away and 
the old posts sag drunkenly forward. 

The sign is gone from the post at 
the bend of the road. 

They had rescued that old sign when 
the post that supported it had rotted 
away. 

It now hangs in the place of honor. 

Just above the fireplace. 

That old, battered, rusty sign. 

Its letters almost obliterated. 

No more will its dismal creak dis- 
turb their fancies. 



And now they sit by the fireside. 
Years have sprinkled their hair 
with grey. 



52 



"HALF-WAY 



The music of little childrens laugh- 
ter is in their ears. 

They come flocking around them. 

Calling again, and again for the 
stor>- of the old sign. 




And Jim tells the stor\- to the chil- 
dren. 

The stor>- of that "Half -Way" sign. 

It will often bear retelling. 

To their children and their children's 
children. 



"HALF-WAY" 53 

It still has a story to tell to all man- 
kind. 

And always will. 

If they will but listen to it — 

AND STICK. 

The End 

For One Is The Beginning For 

Others 



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''Bradford You're Fired" 

By William W. Woodbridge 



This is the last book written by 
Mr. Woodbridge and takes up 
the downfall of John Bradford, 
a traveling salesman, and how 
he came back and ultimately 
filled the highest position of 
trust in the old firm that had 
originally fired him in disgrace. 

In Iiaurel Edition only, 
60c, postage paid 



SMiTH-DIGBY CO. 
Tacoma, Washington 



"SKOOTING SKYWARD" 

BY 

W. W. WOODBRIDGE 

[Author of " That Something." " Kidnapplns Woodrowena." Etc.] 

EIGHT FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Skooting Skyward" is a most wonderful word pic- 
ture of Mt. Tacoma, "painted with a crude brush." It it 
a story that holds one with a gentle, pleasing grip of in- 
terest from the first page until the happy ending. A per- 
son unfamiliar with Northwestern Scenery will realize as 
never before the Wonders of the North Pacific Coast 
after reading this book. 

But "Skooting Sk)rward" is not a book of descrip- 
tions. The reader sees the Mountain through the eyes 
of Mr. Woodrow Bridges, housepainter and "fillosoffer," 
and climbs with his party to the "land above the air-line, 
in the Valley of the Clouds." 

"Skooting Skyward" has a humor all its own — a 
whimsical kind of humor, that brings a smile to the face 
and holds it there until the book is regretfully laid aside. 
Each of its seven chapters is brimming with anecdotes of 
a most amusing nature. 

"Skooting Skyward" is the ONLY story ever wriltea 
with Rainier National Park as its setting. 

FOR SALE AT ALL DEALERS 

Or Mailed Direct on Receipt of 60c in stamps. 

THE SMITH-DIGBY COMPANY 
Tacoma, - - Washington 



The 91st, The First at 
Camp Lewis 

By ALICE PALMER HENDERSON 

Author of 
**The Rainbow's End, Alaska." 



500 pp. 125 Illustrations 



A Complete History of the 
Activities of the 91st Divi- 
sion while in training at 
Camp Lewis, Tacoma. 
Washington. 

It should be in the home 
of every living member of 
this Division, that future 
generations may know what 
was accomplished here and 
how. 



Price, $5.00, Postage Paid 

JOHN a BARR 

Publisher 
924 Commerce St. Tacoma, Wash. 



"BILL BROWN" 



HIS 
'BOOK 



''The Adventures of an American Doughboy' 
80 pp. Illustrated. Cloth Bound 



Contains a narrative of "Biirs" 
experiences while in the ser- 
vice in the United States and 
"Over There/' "Bill's" Trip 
to Paris. Battle of Vaux. Bat- 
tle of Soissons. The St. Mihiel 
Offensive. How he got the 
Croix de Guerre. All told in 
"BilFs" own way, make the 
book one that all boys that 
were in his Division will be 
glad to have and keep. 3%. 5^ 



Price, $1.00, Postage Paid 



SMITH-DIGBY COMPANY 

926 Commerce St, Tacoma, Washington 



I 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



018 360 088 6 




